Persistence of Hope
by mooncroww
Summary: hope is never gone, but it is easy to forget.


A/N The last of the Hope Trilogy. I hope Lolua reads this. She certainly waited long enough for me to post them. That and I miss her quite a bit. I hope someone likes this. I will probably change it later and make all three of them chapters in one story. I suppose I could have made Ron well again. I could have done a lot of things, but the point is hope. And so you have… this.

Disclaimer- I don't even own my dog… we're borrowing him.

* * *

Persistence of Hope

The darkness is thick and inky, oozing over the blankets, filling each fold and wrinkle. He watches it with fearful eyes. It will consume him, swallow him whole. Slowly the tendrils of blackness reach for his heart, longing to stop it's steady rhythm, to squeezing the life out of him. The slight tremble in his limbs becomes uncontrollable and his breathing becomes harsh. Seconds before the shadows cover him, he screams and crawls from his warm bed to the floor.

The door opens and they come for him. People. Friends. He should know them. Harry. Harry is holding him. Hermione. Hermione is taking his hand. They shift in and out of focus, in and out of his thoughts. He grips them with clammy hands, if he hangs on tight enough, wants it bad enough, maybe he can make them real again.

"I'll stay with him." Hermione says, her voice a glowing thing in the grey air.

Together they climb into bed. The covers are warm, safe. Her body is soft, soft as snow. With a sigh he presses his face into her shoulder, she smells of snow as well. His snow angel. He chuckles.

"Hermione… my snow angel." He whispers aloud.

"Ron…" She asks, but he just smiles and drifts into dreams of things he knew long ago.

* * *

The light is bright. Brighter than it has any right to be. Thick golden rays streaming in the window, illuminating his small bedroom, revealing all the things the night so easily hid with it's darkness. Someone stirs beside him, he doesn't turn to see, simply stares at the window with it's glorious red glow of early morning.

"I'm going to get Harry." A voice whispers in his ear.

Soft kisses are pressed to both his cheeks. An angel hovers above, glimmering in the sun. She smiles a sad sort of smile and is gone. His wife. His snow angel. Hermione. He repeats this to himself, a secret. His wife is an angel.

"Come on, time to get you dressed." Harry says.

He allows himself to be pulled to the edge of the bed.

"Harry." He says and smiles because he knew. Harry is dark. A smudge of soot.

"Ron? Are you there?"

He smiles and nods absently.

"It's Harry."

"Harry." He repeats and smiles because he knew.

"Are you really there?"

He touches Harry's lips and eyelids, laughing to himself. There is movement and he lets his dark haired, sooty friend dress him. They both laugh a little as his feet are shoved into a pair of ancient trainers. There are tears in Harry's laughter.

The kitchen is beautiful. Blues and greens, softening the dazzling intrusions of daybreak. He sits and smiles at them. The people. His friends. Harry. Hermione. They help him bring the spoon to his mouth. He chews the cereal slowly. It crunches at first, like leaves in the fall. The sound of it echoes in his skull.

"I'll get him settled, you do the dishes." Hermione says and pulls him from his seat.

The living room is dim. He points to the window and she opens the curtains.

"Ron?" She asks.

"Hermione." He smiles and looks happily at his hands.

"I'll see you when I get home." Harry says.

"Harry." He replies.

"Don't forget to come back." The soft, glowing voice whispers.

"I won't." The sooty one answers.

* * *

Harry sits next to him at dinner. His friend. Harry. He repeats this to himself. They are gentle as they help him bring the fork to his mouth. The bread is crisp and tastes of butter. The meat is juicy. Someone wipes the corner of his mouth.

"Time for bed." Harry says.

He is led down the hall to his bedroom. Gently his clothing is removed and replaced with pajamas. They are smooth with age and smell of memories he's forgotten. Hands pull him to the bed and tug the covers to his chin. Kisses on his cheeks. On his lips. His friend is there. Harry. His wife. Hermione. They are beautiful. Soft as snow and dark as soot. Their goodnights are songs and he's forgotten the words. He should remember them. He should know every note. They shut the door when they leave.

There are sounds from down the hall. Whispers. Sighs. Shouts. He frowns because he knows. He knows everything. They are together. His anger is quick and powerful. His friend. His wife. Shadows appear on the walls. Thick. Dark. Creeping slowly forward.

His anger recedes and he struggles to remember why he was ever angry at all. The night is growing ever closer. Edging toward him. Thin fingers curling and twining. He screams. Screams and crawls from his bed to the floor.

The door opens and they are there. The people. His friend. Harry. His wife. Hermione. They hold him, cuddle him, whisper to him.

"I'll stay with him." Harry whispers.

He smiles at Harry and touches his eyelids. His friend. He hopes he remembers tomorrow. He hopes tomorrow he will be become real. He hopes morning comes soon.


End file.
